Razors on the Tile
by Lazerwolf314
Summary: No one knew Andy McNally was broken. Not until the walls fall away. AU through s4. Warning: Mature themes.
1. Empty Hum

Surface from a dead sleep slowly. Claw to wakefulness, with a cold and empty space next to him. Stretch muscles, knead eyes and slide from bed.

Stumble to bathroom, splash cold water on face, shivering as the beads of liquid travel down his back. Chuckle at the sight of Andy's toothbrush once again hogging his toothbrush holder.

Wait.

Re-assess.

Sam falls into full alertness with that, as he does every morning. As he does every morning, he also curses himself for a fool. A fool for keeping the toothbrush, a fool for forgetting what happened, even for a short while. A fool for what he had done.

An all around fool.

Sighing, Sam cracks his jaw in a yawn and wipes his face dry with a nearby towel. Tossing the wet fabric to the side, he exits the bathroom and heads for the kitchen. There, he snags a mug and pours a cup of the already brewed coffee waiting for him. Leaning against the counter top, body still stiff with sleep, he brings the elixir to his lips and takes the first sip of the morning.

He can already tell that today will be a long day. Something, which swirls in his gut, warns him of this.

He sighs again and sets down his mug, heading to the bread drawer to start a weak breakfast of toast. He would love pancakes this morning, but he hates making them. Hates remembering the pancake batter war that took place in this kitchen.

Hates how there seem to be so many memories stuck in this apartment.

So he eats dry toast, drinks his coffee and heads to work.

Locking the door to his house behind him, he realizes then, after so many months, that this place had become nothing more than the place he eat and slept and sometimes entertained … people.

But not a home.

With that depressing thought, he shook his head and hopped into his truck. Just another day.

.

Walking into the station, Sam nodded slightly to a few passing officers, automatically ducking his head when he catches sight of Marlo out of the corner of his eye. He can't deal with her simple friendliness without strings today.

He doesn't deserve her companionship anyway.

Stopping at the window of the gym, Sam catches a glimpse of Andy, and finds his body jerking backwards to remain hidden. But he continues to watch her as she finishes a brutal combination of punches on the bag, sending it swinging crazily on its chain. From his position, he can see the vague twitch of her lips as she regards the bag, catching it at the last moment.

Then she turns away to pick up a towel and Sam turns away from the window.

He hates himself for how he practically sneaks his way into the locker room and berates his actions, but doesn't bother to change them.

Pulling his locker open with a bang, he lets the sounds and hums of the room wash over him. He allows himself one moment of respite, closing his eyes briefly, before shoving his bag into the metal square and shutting the door, perhaps with a little more force than necessary.

Oliver looks up from across the rows of lockers and studies him silently. Sam doesn't want to think about what he sees.

Nodding to his friend curtly, Sam swirls on his heel and heads out to the D's offices. Checking his watch, he notes there are twenty minutes to kill before Parade starts, and he figures he can work on some cold case during that time. Settling himself at his desk, he digs in, all too willing to find something to distract his mind.

But he only works for about fifteen minutes before he registers a presence at the side of his desk.

Looking up, he sees Peck staring at him, a strange look on her face. It almost looked like… worry and apprehension. Sam had never seen that expression on Gail Peck. And that was enough to cause a bolt of fear to run down his spine.

"Detective Swarek, could you come with me?" she asked softly, eyes starting to dart from side to side.

"What is it Peck?" Sam demands, rising from his seat.

She takes a nervous step backwards and hesitates for a brief moment. Just as Sam was about to shake her, because that swirling feeling was back in his gut, she finally answered. "It's Andy. Can you please come with me?"

And Sam follows.

As they head to the women's locker room, Sam sees Collins watching them from across the hall. Sam doesn't bother to acknowledge Army Boy's gaze.

What he doesn't see is the look of pure sadness and desolation that crosses Nick's face when everything seems to click.

Weaving their way through the small maze of lockers, they finally stop at the far corner, next to the open doorway that leads to the showers. Gail walks further into the alcove and leans against the wall, but Sam stops dead when he catches sight of Andy.

She looks small.

This is the first thing that crosses his mind.

Wrapped in a towel, hair still wet and hanging freely, she seems to shrink into the white fabric, her cheekbones standing stark and face pale, she looks exactly like a forlorn and dirty doll that has been left in the dirt by a vengeful child.

(His mind instantly flashes to not even half an hour ago, when he saw her strong and ferocious beating on the gym's punching bag. What in the hell happened in such little time?)

What is worse are her eyes though.

A chill shoots down his spine and settles there when he catches sight of her eyes.

There is nothing left of the warm, intelligent and caring glow that normally radiates from their depths.

No.

The brown eyes that stare out at the three of them without seeing only hold a lost nothingness.

The empty hum of the woman's locker room echo in his ears, much like the men's had done not that long ago. But here is different. Here, the sounds mock him openly. He ignores Traci from where she hovers before Andy and finds himself studying the woman he loves, despite all his attempts not to.

Something catches inside his throat as he tries to look away.

"How long … ?" he starts, voice hushed as he tries to force sound around the lump in his throat. There's a heavy weight in the air, a pressing feeling in his lungs and somberness rings in his ears.

"Has she been like this?" Gail finishes. Sam finds himself nodding, even though not a single person in the room is looking at him. "Since Traci found her ten minutes ago. She hasn't said a word, or done anything since."

This is enough to jar Sam's sensibilities (everything he knows about Andy denies what he's just been told, but its sitting right in front of him) and he glances over at the icy blonde. She quirks an eyebrow at him and shrugs, but he could see the very real fear and concern in her gaze.

"Why am I here?" Sam asks softly, wanting desperately to do something but at the same time, knowing he hasn't really been in the position to interfere for a long time now.

"Nothing else we tried worked. We thought you could help," Gail muttered.

"Andy?" Traci tries again softly from where she is crouched before her silent and absent friend. Sam holds his breath as he waits for something; anything. There isn't any reaction. Andy simply blinks once slowly and a small frown creases her face.

Something sick settles in Sam's stomach.

The feeling only intensifies when Traci reaches out to touch Andy's arm and the reaction is instantaneous; Andy jerks backwards as if the touch burned, screwing her eyes shut and pulling her knees to her chest in order to become the smallest shape possible.

But when she wraps her arms around her legs to curl further inward, Sam's entire body jerks in horrified surprise as his eyes latched onto the gauze wrapped around the arm that was previously obscured from his view. And the crimson stain slowly marring the crisp white fabric around her wrist.

He steps forward on pure instinct, the primal part of him desperate to sooth and fix and heal. But he stops dead when terrified eyes snap up to stare at him, a warning for him to stay back.

Behind him, he hears Gail murmur, "guess you're just as useless."

He wants to punch her.

Resists.

Almost doesn't.

Instead he snaps his head around to glare at her and she at least attempts to appear apologetic.

At this point, Traci stands and backs away from Andy (both of them wince at the way she relaxes as they move away), moving to stand at Sam's side.

"I have no idea what to do," Traci hisses and Sam can feel the anxiousness radiating from her.

"What happened to her arm?" Sam asks (demands) and he can almost feel the air grow cold. The need for an answer, any answer, roils in his stomach like bile.

There's no answer.

In it's place, a new voice joins them.

Sam, Gail and Traci all jump at the sudden noise.

But Andy stays perfectly still.

No one sees the small smile.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nick murmurs, eyes only on Andy. He leans against the lockers, a blank mask covering his face.

Gail moves to intercept, but Nick brushes her off as he heads toward the still trembling in their midst.

Suddenly, the three others are left on the outside.

Nick takes up the position previously occupied by Traci, crouching at Andy's level.

"You should have told me," Nick reiterates softly and the room holds their breath.

"You can't always take care of me," Andy mumbles out in a croak.

Nick just laughs. And as he does, he reaches for her wrist and she doesn't move away.

* * *

_This isn't going where you think._

_Or is it._

_I think this will only be about three chapters. _

_I hope you enjoyed and please let me know what you think._


	2. Demon

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

Breathe through the pressure that seems to settle on lungs as the scene is set and played out. Three are outsiders, pillars and unconscious guardians to the two who hover in their midst. Of the two, the male stands soldier steady, patient and warm. The last, the supernova, burns cold, trapped still by the claws none of them can see.

But all can sense.

There's a demon in the room.

Sam can hear it cackling, just beneath the sounds of his breathing.

"Alright," Nick's exclamation breaks the trance that has settled upon the room. "Let's get you out of here," he tells Andy quietly, lightly encircling her wrists to help her up. He carefully avoids the red stained bandage and doesn't comment. Sam gets the sinking feeling that Nick has grasped some piece of crucial information that continues to dance out of reach.

"You shouldn't have to do this," Andy mumbles distractedly, not quite able to focus on anything in particular.

"Would you let anyone else?" Nick asks, glancing back over his shoulder to offer a pained smile. _You should go_, he mouths to Gail and Traci, not bothering to even acknowledge Sam. The suggestion is more of an implied order, that all of them allow to wash over their. A flicker of anger crosses the soldier's face; Sam can almost see his restraint as he fights not to growl at them.

Instead, he turns back to Andy just as she mumbles something unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"I said you were right," Andy snarks, fire snapping to life. It quickly dies, but its there and a small amount of relief seeps into everyone's bones.

What they don't see is Nick's smirk as he tugs once more, insistently, on Andy's arms.

Andy slowly uncurls from herself and sets her feet tentatively on the floor. It hits Sam then what he is seeing, as he watches her meet Nick's steady gaze. Her eyes gleam in the harsh lights, not with the calculations and clarity of a cop, or the happiness and kindness that encompassed this woman, but with the simple fear and tortured innocence of a child.

Sam feels sick again. He has lost count how many times this has happened already.

Tentatively pushing to her feet, Andy watches Collins solely, entirely unaware that Sam, Traci and Gail are even in the room. Out of the fog that hovers, Sam hears Traci gasp once, softly, when the terrycloth towel Andy is wrapped in begins to slip and there is no move to stop it.

A haze clouds.

Without a hitch, Nick releases the bandaged arm and carefully fixes the fabric with practice ease, and it occurs to Sam them, that this has happened before. When this strikes home, details begin to knit together, and he wonders how he missed it. How could he possibly have missed something so broken inside the lion heart?

Nick's movements break some of the trance like intensity hovering about Andy and she blinks, clarity shimmering into reality.

She stumbles once, and for an instant when her bare feet skid on the cold linoleum, Sam is reminded of Bambi.

"Oh," she murmurs, catching herself and peering around. Leaning heavily against Nick's chest, she stares for a long moment at the three others that ring them. That stand useless.

Then something clicks and fear, pure and undiluted, crosses her face.

"Nick, they can't be here," she hisses, shrinking away. "They can't see!" There is panic now, blooming to life off inside an already overwhelmed soul.

"Easy, easy, Andy," Nick soothes. "They found you in the shower. I got here after. Calm down," he waits until her flight response slows before he pulls her into a hug, where she burrows her face into his shoulder.

Now, this time when Nick turns to regard Sam, Traci and Gail, he speaks aloud and there's no questioning the order this time around.

"I've got this. Go. Tell Frank we won't be there for Parade."

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but Nick levels him with a glare that holds nothing but warning.

So his mouth snaps shut with a click and he strides from the room, even as a piece of him is left behind. Vaguely, he hears Gail and Traci follow, but doesn't bother stopping as he leaves behind the locker rooms. He aims himself toward the Parade room, hopes he'll make it there, and walks.

Then suddenly, he's spinning backwards and away, the impact of shoulder to shoulder entirely unexpected. Blinking, he flails slightly for balance, stumbling as he sees Marlo in an equally, if more graceful, dance like quickstep to stay upright. Not Bambi. So far from a baby deer.

"Oh," he says blankly. "Sorry."

She opens her mouth to say something, but by then, gets a good look at his face. Her jaw snaps shut. Pale face, tense lines, sweaty brow. Tortured eyes. Wild eyes. Angry and snapping wolf eyes.

So she holds. Impasse.

Gears churn and pieces click but don't quite mesh together the way they should.

She tells him only this, "you look like shit. Go home."

It's the only warning she can give him because, despite so much belief to the contrary, she knows him enough to understand that with wolf eyes, this man cannot be at work, not today. It will only lead to bad police work and, more than likely, an explosion of some sort that could destroy him.

However, what she fears the most and what is the most probable, is an implosion.

Put wild feelings in a bottle, add a splash of whatever had put that look in Sam's eyes, and shake it up, the internal reaction will fizzle and bubble until, _fizz, _frozen solid. Worse than dynamite dependent on how you look at it.

Those wolf eyes sharpen as her words register but he doesn't acknowledge them. Instead, he nods once and walks away.

He forgets to aim and finds himself standing in the biting wind at the mouth of 15 Division. He can't bring himself to turn around.

Back at the woman's locker room entrance, Marlo fights the urge to chase after the man and turns just as Gail and Traci emerge. She nods to the officer and detective and makes go in. Oddly, she is stopped by a hand on her arm.

"Don't go in there, uh, someone was just sick and they're trying to clean it up. Give them a minute," Nash tells her, but there is something more there. None of this rings as the truth, at least not the whole truth.

That's when the pieces that have clicked start to mesh.

_"I have these… episodes sometimes," comes the quiet voice, echoing metallically through the air of the art gallery. It is unexpected and startling, which causes curious and wary eyes to find the tiny and hunched up form of McNally._

_"What?" is asked, cautious, possible dangerous ground._

_The face of the younger woman turns and all Marlo can see is a battleground etched into her features._

_"You asked for a secret. Secret for a secret. I have bad days where I remember things I shouldn't."_

_The olive branch extends further._

_"Okay," Marlo breathes quietly. She is enough cop and woman and person to know that this is not something to push for. This is a show of faith, of possibility, that cannot be severed by rashness._

_She waits._

_McNally puffs out a breath, shifting the hair that has fallen across her brow. It dances softly, briefly, in the yellow glow cast upon the room. Their containment chamber._

_"When I was eight, something happened to me that I didn't remember. Couldn't remember I guess. My mind just didn't want to accept it. And that was good. Good that I didn't know. But not that long ago, I think my brain decided to fix itself. And I remembered. And so I have days where I don't particularly … enjoy life."_

_Silence booms._

_"Okay," Marlo repeats._

_Then._

_"Thank you."_

_Neither secret is further discussed._

Marlo grimaces as she peers past Peck and Nash into the maw of the locker room. She can only guess what's happened, trying to form a picture with only half of the details, but she knows that there is little she can do.

And from what she saw in Sam (Sam who still loved McNally even when he tried so hard not to, Sam that Marlo knew was in love with another woman but was oddly unruffled by such, Sam that would never face up to his feelings until too late), nothing anyone else could really do.

The surprise of the day will continue to be Collins.

But Marlo will be the only other who understands, to the best she can, what occurred. At least she will be today.

"Alright," she tells the two women who stand guard and walks away. Gail and Traci look at each other, confusion evident in both their frames, before they break away, Traci to speak to Frank in the mere minute remaining before Parade begins and Gail to slip into the back of the meeting room before anyone starts to look for her.

Frank and Traci slip in seconds later, one with focus touched with a sliver of sympathy for his officer suffering from the stomach flu, and the other with worry as she scans the room for her partner and finds him missing.

Sam doesn't show for Parade.

This is unsurprising for two people. Only concerning.

* * *

_Unbeta'd. If you see errors, I'd love it if you point them out._

_I was a day off of my self imposed deadline; sorry._

_THANK YOU all so much for the overwhelming response to the first chapter! Wow!_

_The chapter I believe all of you are waiting to see is next; parts of it were originally in here, but I had to cut it down after I changed it up a bit._

_I'm a bit nervous about throwing in some Poison Pill references; wasn't my original intention but it worked really well. Please, do let me know what you think about the flashback bit._

_As always, thanks for reading._


	3. Wind

Angry and icy claws latch and tear across exposed skin, the elements in an uproar which mimics the very storm contained within the body. There are no shivers, no hisses as the cold slaps cheeks and worms beneath a rather inadequate jacket. There is no outward reaction to the harshness of the weather that screams just as angrily and loudly as the demons hiding in the very wind.

Sam Swarek stood, motionless, voiceless, a statue before 15. Part of him, the detective, the cop, the curious, wanted nothing more than to turn around and march back into the precinct and find answers to questions he needed answers to.

(Needed was all relative though.

He had no place needing anything from her.

But there was still need.

Damnit.)

He wonders how long he's been standing outside. He can't feel his fingers. Probably too long. Probably should go inside.

Pause.

Turn.

Stride slowly towards the building. Then, quick cut to the left, shuffle like a zombie around the callous bricks and he makes his way to his truck. Marlo's advice had hit home (he feels like shit as well) and he needs to get out of here while he still can.

The roar of the engine is soothing and rolls gently over battered and oozing cuts. He closes his eyes, allows one more shudder to roll down his back, before he blinks and eases the hulking mass of metal into drive. Carefully maneuvering his truck from its space, he allows himself only to focus on the mechanics of driving. Ease up on the gas, flick blinker up, check the sides.

Turn.

Drive.

He doesn't check the rear view.

.

Nick and Andy aren't seen the rest of the day. This worries Traci as she chews her pen thoughtfully, spinning slowly side to side in her chair as she watches the bullpen below. It's not that they have left, no, she could see the state her best friend was in and was well aware that under no circumstances should Andy have been working the streets, or even the desk, in that state.

No. It was the fact that, once Traci and Gail had left the two of them behind in the locker room, only minutes before Parade, when officers and Detectives were still filtering in and out, last minutes checks and all that, and they hadn't been seen (by anyone) since.

Vanished.

Poof.

It was as if this had happened before.

And the speed of which Nick has managed to get Andy out of the division was mildly terrifying. There had been practice in that speed.

Something began to burn in the back of Traci mind. Bits of information began to click home and bubble. The feelings of confusedness and worry morphed into, more worry yes, but also anger and resentment. And as that feeling grew, she began to remember days over the few months following Nick and Andy's return from Dakota where neither had appeared on shift.

A small seed of guilt (guilt for not noticing, guilt for not knowing how to help her best friend, and oddly, guilt for allowing her partner to see the object of a twisted storm of hate and love as broken as she was. Guilt was odd.) began to form.

But at the same time, there was curiosity. When had this started? It must have been sometime either during or after Operation Dakota; Traci had to believe there was absolutely no way she would ever have missed this before. But she knew without a doubt that Andy had returned different from those six months. And, if she knew Nick better, she would even hedge that he too had changed.

What had caused it then?

That there was a mystery Traci would likely never solve on her own.

A mystery wrapped in an enigma laced with a conundrum.

Pulling the thoroughly chewed from her mouth, she frowns and flicks the gob of spit away. It lands with an almost audible splat on Sam's chair. Traci feels the flickers of a smile pull at her lips and she completes another spin in her chair. Then her feet set down, because out of the corner of her eye, she spots Frank, and knows its time to put this into a box until the end of shift.

Setting up straight and quickly flipping open a wayward file, she stares intently at the lines of dark print before her, scratches absently at her hair and taps the desk, the picture of full concentration.

Timing.

Is everything.

A new case appears on her desk and all her previous worries vanish in a whirlwind hunt for a double murderer and child abductor.

.

Nick slowly thumbs his clutch of keys in his jacket pocket, counting them off to himself silently. His other arm is wrapped comfortably around a pair of hunched in shoulders and small hands tuck themselves at his side.

Finding the proper key, he withdraws his hand from the dark confines of fabric and opens the door to Andy's apartment. He carefully leads his compliant charge into the darkness of the main room, ensuring that the door is swung shut and locked once again behind them.

Dropping his set of keys on the counter (habit has him putting them in the dish next to the fruit. He smiles sadly at this, because to him, it's just another raw reminder of how many times this has occurred), he carefully maneuvers Andy's jacket from her limp form and sets it on the couch, still shuffling further and further into the apartment. At some point in their trek

(miles and miles they still have yet to go)

her hand has become laced in his.

(What was it he said about habits?)

"Time for bed," he murmurs into her ear, and she nods weakly.

Leading her carefully into her bedroom, Nick lets go of her hand for an instant, wincing at the way she emits a small wine of abandonment. Pulling back the covers, he returns to her side and tugs gently. She offers her fake, candy coated smile, that does little to reassure him and follows.

When she's settled, eyes already drifting as the battles behind her eyes are forced at bay by mental exhaustion, Nick traces a light fingertip across her cheek and pokes her nose. It pulls a weak snort, faint on already sleep weighted lips and that's all Nick needs.

"Sleep okay?" he tells her.

It's no use, because her eyelids have already slipped closed and her breathing evens out.

Briefly, as he always is in this moment, he recalls when this began.

Bowing his head, he sighs.

* * *

_All will be answered soon._

_I hope all of you reading are enjoying this._

_I also predict about two more chapters to this before I put it to bed._

_Thanks for reading!_


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